Robert thought of Marie, his pilot, his star, his hope. When he had driven his ship across the uncertain sea of finance it would be Marie's beautiful face that would keep the lovelight burning upon the altar of his heart, ever to guide her captain safely home. He had looked to her to pilot him into the path of peace, lead him to the fields of contentment and, at last, to the height of eternal peace. He had looked forward to this day, his birthday, when she would return to him and he might claim her for his own. Thought of Marie's words, that hope and anticipation are greater than realization, but felt that nothing in the world could give him greater pleasure than the realization of this moment if he could hold Marie in his arms, kiss her sweet lips and hear the sweet words of love she had spoken to him in the past. Robert's heart for a moment sank within him. It was too much for him. He sobbed and cried like a baby but then he thought of his faith, of God and his power supreme. Again as he was wondering what to do, he got the crumpled note that Marie wrote and put in his pocket on Sunday and read it again: "According to your faith, be I unto you. Love will always hope, understand and wait. Time proves all things. You will get everything you want. I will come to you when I mean the most and your need for love is the greatest." Only a few short lines, but so much said in them and so much left unsaid, Robert thought. Yet they contained an assurance, they left no doubt about a hope for the future and on that hope and with that faith Robert would cling to the future. Time would prove his love. Marie stated plainly that he would get everything he wanted and he knew that the greatest thing in the world he wanted was Marie. So at the close of another day of disappointment he felt that there was room for hope and that the future was lined with hopes. He resolved never to waver. Then read "A Psalm of Life" by Longfellow: Tell me not in mournful numbers Life is but an empty dream, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. Art is long and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act--act in the living present! Heart within and God o'erhead. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.